


on what we treasure falls a dusty snow

by transkatsuki



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types
Genre: (the &s mean platonic + the /s mean romantic for ships), Dissociative Identity Disorder, Eventual Happy Ending, Everyone Has Issues, F/F, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Komaeda Nagito-centric, M/M, Multi, Other, Paralysis, Platonic Soulmates, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recovery, this sounds WAY angstier than it is i promise it’s fairly tame
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-21
Updated: 2020-03-20
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:40:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23237839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/transkatsuki/pseuds/transkatsuki
Summary: It is, in every sense of the phrase, Hell on Earth. It’s rubble and ash and eternal flame, it’s loneliness and grief and pure, utter despair.It’s rock bottom.It’s divine.
Relationships: Hinata Hajime & Komaeda Nagito & Nanami Chiaki, Hinata Hajime/Komaeda Nagito, Kamukura Izuru/Komaeda Nagito, Koizumi Mahiru/Mioda Ibuki/Tsumiki Mikan, Koizumi Mahiru/Saionji Hiyoko, Komaeda Nagito & Towa Monaca, Nanami Chiaki/Sonia Nevermind, Sonia Nevermind/Tanaka Gundham, there r others probably but they aren’t important
Comments: 1
Kudos: 47





	on what we treasure falls a dusty snow

**Author's Note:**

> tw for: implied character death, implied child death, implied suicidal thoughts/depression, and major injury to a child

It is, in every sense of the phrase, Hell on Earth. It’s rubble and ash and eternal flame, it’s loneliness and grief and pure, utter despair.

It’s rock bottom.

It’s divine.

He can only rationalize that with a situation this bad, he’s in for the lucky streak of the century. Why else would things get so horrible? Why, if not for the opposite to occur?

He should have worshiped her, really.

“You don’t make any sense, Nagito,” Hajime says, annoyed. He jumps at the sound of his voice; pissy, familiar. Alive.

“You’re here,” he breathes, unbelieving. 

“Of course we’re here,” Chiaki yawns, blinking away sleep. “We’re your family, Ko.”

“But you died,” he points out. “And Hajime, you... you aren’t Hajime anymore.”

“What are you talking about?” He asks, rolling his eyes. “You’ve really lost it, haven’t you?”

“Evidently so,” he whispers. “What are you doing here?” Chiaki locks arms with him.

“Are you going to save her?” She asks.

“... Save who, Nanami?” 

“The girl, Ko.” 

He looks to Hajime for clarification, confused. Hajime laughs, shaking his head, before pointing to a large pile of rubble.

“The little girl, Nagito. The one in the wheelchair. Are you going to save her?”

“Monaca?” He blinks. “Oh, right. She’s going to die, isn’t she?” Hajime reaches for his face, cradling his cheeks between small hands.

“No,” he promises. “You can save her.”

“I’m dead, aren’t I?” Nagito asks, tears welling in his eyes. “I’m finally dead.”

“You could be,” Hajime admits. “You could be dead. You could stay here with us.”

“Or you could do the right thing,” Chiaki says, resting her head on his shoulder. “Save her.”

“I want to be with you two,” he sobs. “I miss you so much. I miss you, Hajime.”

“I know,” he says, frowning.

“I love you,” he bawls, shaking. “I love you. I don’t want to be here anymore. I want to be with you and Nanami. I want to stay with you.”

“Oh, Nagito,” he thumbs away a stray tear. “It’s not up to you, now is it?”

“... W-What?” He cries, backing away. 

“You have to save her, Ko,” Chiaki explains, unhooking herself from his side. 

“No,” he begs. “No, please. I hate it here. I hate this world. I’m sick of waiting for good things. Take me with you.”

He fists his hands in Hajime’s shirt. The shorter man smiles at him as Chiaki gravitates to his side, leaning into him. 

“You’re not ready,” he says softly.

Nagito wakes up.

It’s exactly how he remembers; he must have blacked out. His face is pressed into the unforgiving ground, cruelly digging pebbles into his skin. He groans before sitting up, rubbing at his head in pain.

“Mister!” A small voice cries out. “Mister Servant! Help me, I’m stuck!”

Right. 

He feels so, so cold as he trudges over to the tuft of green hair. Cold and uneasy. His whole body is trembling with exhaustion and anxiety, his stomach flipping as he paws through the grime, the aftermath of an explosion. 

She’s there, then, and warmth rushes over him as he collapses to his knees, panting. 

“Where are my friends?” She asks, lip quivering. He shakes his head, chest heaving with his breathes. She blinks. “Are they-“

“Yeah,” he says. “I’m sorry.” 

“... Right,” she mumbles quietly. “I must have... miscalculated. Oh, dummy-!” she whines, grabbing fistfuls of her hair.

“Hey,” he breathes, slowly pulling her hands down. “It’s gonna be okay. Can you stand?”

She makes a strained face, struggling, before looking up at him with fearful eyes. 

“... No,” she whispers in disbelief. “I can’t.”

He laughs shortly at that, not thinking to be sensitive. She starts crying quietly, unable to move. He shakes his head, smiling. 

“I guess that’s karma, huh?” He asks. She doesn’t respond. “Here,” he stands, pulling her up by the armpits and carefully placing her on his back. “We’re getting out of here.”

“Y-You stink,” she complains through her tears. “And you’re bony. And shaky.” 

“Yeah,” he agrees. “I’ll get better soon, I think. You will too. That’s a promise.” She sobs.

“I hate you. I hate you so much. I can’t walk. There’s no getting better.” He hums thoughtfully. “Where are we going? Do you even know what you’re doing?”

“Barely,” he admits. “But... I know a guy.”

“You’re so dumb,” she whines. “You’re going to get us lost. I hate you. I hate you!”

He doesn’t bother granting her a response.


End file.
